


A Necessary Ingredient in Living

by heyitsk



Category: Austenland - All Media Types
Genre: Developing Relationship, Domestic Disputes, F/M, Holidays, In-Laws
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 10:32:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2809193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heyitsk/pseuds/heyitsk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is a truth universally acknowledged that into every fantasy, reality must creep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Necessary Ingredient in Living

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shulik](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shulik/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide, Shulik!

  


Jane’s buoyant mood flickered briefly when she saw the heap of overstuffed files stacked precariously on her desk. Jane had never been particularly fond of Monday mornings, even less so the Monday mornings that followed holidays. But it seemed nothing could dampen her spirits in the aftermath of her trip to Victorian Times (as Molly had taken to calling Austenland) and Henry’s impromptu weekend visit.

Henry had left earlier that day, rousing Jane at an ungodly hour to press a lingering kiss on her lips as she drifted in and out of sleep. When her alarm chimed three hours later, Jane cursed herself for not getting up to say a proper farewell and sank back into bed with a pout. It wasn't long before her mind turned to sweeter memories: Henry, bringing her tea in bed yesterday morning, hair devilishly awry and underclothes rumpled, smiling shyly at her as their fingers brushed; Henry and Molly spearing their forks eagerly into the sinfully rich chocolate torte moments after Jane pulled it out of the oven, after make-out sessions had been interrupted and introductions had been made; Henry, nestled up next to her on the couch, watching the Pride & Prejudice miniseries, in between lazy, romantic strolls around Central Park; Henry, curled beside her in the dark, trailing soft fingertips over the curve of her hip, as they traded secrets and kisses; Henry, real and warm and alive, better than any dream Jane ever had. 

“Well?” Dave asked, offering Jane a smile of welcome and a steaming mug of coffee over their shared cubicle wall. “How was life among the tea and crumpet set?” 

Jane smiled, rustling around her purse for the Big Ben snow globe she’d picked up for him in the airport. “Very lovely, thank you,” Jane said as she traded him the small package for the coffee. 

She took a sip and immediately sighed with relief. “Thanks. You’ve no idea how much I needed that.” 

“Sounds like there’s a story there,” Dave said, preening over her gift with far more excitement than Jane thought was necessary or, for that matter, believable. Jane had spent the past three years working alongside him as an illustrator in the children’s division of a small publishing house. They’d managed to create a peaceful haven in their corner of the office, far from the constant sniping of the literary fiction snobs and online publishing hipsters. 

Jane flipped on her computer and, while she waited for it to boot up, leaned across the partition to tell Dave how she’d spent the past 72 hours living out her own real-life version of Jane Austen novel.

Before she could begin, Dave interrupted with decidedly unhappy groan. “Have you seen this email?” 

Two hours later, Jane was packing up the personal items from her desk amid a flurry of noise and high-paced activity. The entire company had been liquidated, the back catalogue of titles and rights sold off suddenly to the highest bidder over the weekend. There was talk of severance and temporarily extended health benefits at the hastily called companywide meeting but Jane hadn’t been paying strict attention to all the salient details. She’d been too busy trying to stave off a panic attack. 

From across the partition, Dave offered her a wry smile as he pitched a half-dead aloe plant into his wastebasket. “Ugh. Mondays, right?” 

The absurdity of the statement—the absurdity of her life, really—set Jane off into fit of laughter that had her gasping for breath and falling helplessly back into one of the overpriced new model ergonomic chairs the company had purchased just last month. _What a waste_ , Jane thought, and laughed louder. She felt dizzy, overcome with both worry and possibility, and took a moment to gather herself. Dave looked on with mild amusement before pulling her into a comforting hug and ushering them both out the door. 

Jane made her way back to Astoria in a daze, dropping the telltale box of possessions that had other subway passengers regarding her with pity onto her kitchen table. She flopped down on the couch listlessly, pondering what to do next. She wished Henry didn’t live an ocean away, that he was still here to complain that she took up too much room on the sofa and to offer comforting words and endless cups of tea.

Jane sighed. So much for that fantasy. 

Idly, Jane wondered if any of the Lamaze exercises she’d picked up as Molly’s birthing partner might be useful for keeping her anxiety at bay.

  


  


Henry had been adamant about keeping plans for their six-month anniversary top secret, so Jane awoke to a series of texts instructing her to be at the Virgin terminal at JFK no later than 4 p.m. that afternoon. When she arrived, she found a first-class ticket on the next flight out to Paris waiting for her. 

Jane had come to appreciate Henry’s air of spontaneity and cavalierness with money, even if if was miles away from her own studied and reasoned approach to life. It had taken some effort to adjust, resulting in a few arguments and a distinct set of boundaries, drawn up after Henry had nonchalantly presented her with a luminous necklace dripping with diamonds and sapphires on their third weekend together. When she’d insisted he return it, arguing that it was far too expensive and that she had no place to wear it, she’d been met with Henry’s sardonic frown and a sly cajole about her lack of imagination. To this day, she’d only ever worn in it the bedroom. 

Jane’s own finances and career had been resuscitated in the wake of that dreadful Monday morning massacre, courtesy of her new career as a freelance illustrator for a stable of magazines. Even so, she still prickled at Henry’s extravagance. Jane had never been poor, her middle class upbringing spoke plainly for her, but the ease with which Henry spent money still threw her. It hinted at a streak of profligacy that Jane had never associated with the man, though she found no other indication of it in his character. 

Over time, Jane had learned to compromise. They both had. The extended weekend trip to Paris was no different. 

Henry had booked them a suite at the Four Seasons, of course, because nowhere else would do. But he bypassed room service each morning to run out and fetch them fresh baguettes and _pain au chocolat_ from the nearest boulangerie. He’d slip back into bed beside her after he’d set the French press and kiss her slowly awake. Too soon, Henry would draw her out of bed and bundle them both into the hotel's plush, velvety robes before leading them out to the terrace. There, they’d take their breakfast each morning in the crisp Autumn air, watching as the city spread out before them slowly hummed to life. 

Evenings, they dined on Michelin-starred cuisine before hitting up a street vendor for Nutella-and-banana crepes on their meandering walks around the city. They’d rented bicycles and rode out to the Bois de Boulogne, enjoying the vibrant hues of the changing foliage and picnicking near the lake. They spent hours in the Louvre, Jane as breathless with delight and awe as she had been her first time through, when she’d been backpacking with Molly on their requisite post-graduation European tour. Henry dragged Jane over to Givenchy one afternoon and had Jane fitted for a stunning dress; while she’d been poked and prodded with needles, Jane wondered where she’d ever wear it, let alone how she’d manage to fit it into her cramped closet back home.

Their last night together, Henry ordered them room service. They'd spent the evening drinking champagne and eating macarons on the terrace, admiring the sparkling city lights and the few stars they'd been able to glimpse overhead. Henry had been warm against Jane’s side, her head rested softly in the curve of his shoulder. Jane’s mind had been alive with thoughts of the future ahead of them, possibilities spooling out endlessly.

She’d been wondering if Henry felt the same when he’d leaned in to press a small kiss on the corner of her mouth and whisper, slyly, in her ear, “Did you, by chance, pack that necklace of yours, Jane?” The heat that crept into Jane’s cheeks was answer enough. 

Jane supposes there are certain luxuries for which she can make exceptions.

  


  


Henry held off for two days after their trip to Paris before he'd asked Jane if she wanted to move in together. It made more sense logistically for Jane to uproot her life, considering her job could move along with her, but New York’s hold on Jane proved inexorable. She'd finally persuaded her mother and father to visit her in New York last year, facing their fears of both air travel and big cities; Jane knew nothing short of the end of the world would persuade them to travel across an ocean. Nor, frankly, was she in any hurry to leave Molly alone with Jane's new godson, Oliver.

Henry seemed amenable either way. Any lingering guilt Jane felt about keeping Henry so far from his family was smoothed away after an markedly unpleasant Christmas spent in Kent. Jane loved Henry’s mother, a sweet and tenderhearted widow whose son was the brightest star in her sky. Mrs. Nobley’s mild temperament and eagerness to accommodate Jane proved a marked contrast to her sister-in-law’s thinly disguised contempt and Uncle Wattlesbrook’s lecherous gluttony. Between the stinging insults about Jane's dress and appearance and the disdain with which the Wattlesbrooks seemed to regard all things American save for currency, Jane found her patience wanting and spent much of the visit hiding out in the library. It seemed to be the warmest room in the otherwise cold and gloomy estate Henry and his mother called home. 

Mrs. Nobley found her there on more than one occasion, bearing trays of tea and Christmas cookies. They would pass a moment or two enjoying the peace of one another’s company beside the fireplace before the din of a debate raging in one of the many adjoining rooms would send Henry’s mother scuttling off in concern. Jane treasured their time together, however brief. 

When she wasn’t able to escape the unwanted attentions of Henry’s extended family, Jane found herself subject to an endless series of offenses. Such as: 

“That top is very becoming, Jane. Is that polyester? I hear it’s making a comeback at the Walmarts of the world.” 

“Yes, indeed. Delightful neckline,” Drunk Uncle murmured in agreement as his appreciative leer at her décolletage drew bile to Jane’s throat. 

And: 

When Henry, drawing Jane’s attention to Mrs. Nobley’s odd collection of royal wedding memorabilia in the corner hutch, nearly throttled Uncle Wattlesbrook after he’d smarmily voiced his desire to have a poke around Jane’s own curio cabinet.

More often than not, Jane took these exchanges as her cue to feign a headache and, as politely as she was able, flee the room. 

The afternoon before her flight back home, Jane and Mrs. Nobley shared a quick respite over the last of the shortbread. When they heard the telling crescendo of another argument in progress, Henry’s mother turned to Jane and observed wisely in parting, “You may not be able to choose your family but you can certainly choose how close you keep them.” 

Jane understood that to be the tacit blessing she’d unknowingly sought and, by the end of the following semester, Henry had a job lined up in the history department at Hunter. 

  


  


Jane found it hardest to reconcile fantasy with reality once they’d moved in together. Finding an apartment that they both agreed upon, amenities- and price-wise, had been obstacle enough. She soon learned that being with Henry and living with Henry were two entirely different things. The sheer delight of simply being near one another after so much time spent apart was heady, but Jane couldn't ignore the small irritations that had seemed palatable from afar. 

Henry’s messiness, for starters. Brown-soled and pungent socks showed up weeks after they’d been worn, nestled in an out-of-the-way corner and beset with rigor mortis. They refused to be outdone, however, by the steady supply of half-drained mugs of tea and library books that Henry abandoned upon whichever flat surface was nearest. The less said about the state of Henry's wardrobe, the better; Jane had once found a small colony of mice living in the bottom drawer.

There were other concerns, of course: Henry’s occasional bouts of pretension and misanthropy, his stark-raving relatives and his tendency toward excess. There was also the not-so-small matter of his sci-fi action figures, which took up far too much space in their study. Every time Jane mentioned the possibility of scaling back, she’d been met with a snippy refusal and a pointed glance at her own exceedingly well-stocked scrapbooking station. Jane supposed it could be worse; Henry could have inherited his family’s disturbing fondness for taxidermy.

Living with Henry wasn't anything like Jane ever imagined. She hadn't been prepared for the small joys of sharing household chores together, which Henry could be coerced into far easier than Jane expected on Saturday mornings before they hurried out to pick up their CSA share at the farmer's market. Nor the comfort she found in working quietly on her latest commission while Henry plodded, with heavy sighs, through a pile of grading at his own desk. Or the small thrill that ran through Jane each time she discovered something new about Henry, even if it was as mundane as his aversion to turnips or affinity for Golden Girls reruns. In light of such unexpected pleasures, Henry's flaws seemed an inconsequential price to pay.

Upon hearing of their cohabitation, Ms. Charming had warned Jane that a certain part of her anatomy would dry up from disuse. The exact opposite had proven true, thanks to Jane’s ever-increasing collection of corsets and the steampunk-flavored adult toys they’d found on Etsy. Not that Jane had worried much; thus far, the bulk of Ms. Charming's romantic advice had proven entirely inapplicable. Jane still grimaces in recollection of an especially graphic lecture about the best ways to induce lactation in non-pregnant females. 

Henry had come round to appreciating the unusual charms of Ms. Charming rather easily. He may have found her presence overbearing and begged off with a litany of well-mannered excuses, but he didn’t begrudge Jane her friendship. And so, for one week every April, Jane and Henry played host to Ms. Charming, her small mountain of suitcases and the gaggle of Pomeranians yipping at her feet. She was occasionally accompanied by Colonel Andrews, who’d succumbed to Ms. Charming’s attentions upon the discovery of her vast fortune and their shared interest in homoerotic volleyball montages. He still insisted upon referring to Jane as Ms. Erstwhile despite repeated correction and never failed to greet Henry with an enthusiastic, “Well met, dear chap. How goes tallying your ho?”

His presence was tolerated for Ms. Charming’s sake. Jane suspected, despite his protests to the contrary, that Henry actually enjoyed Colonel Andrews’ company—if only for the feeling of familiarity his accent engendered and the Bakewell Tarts he stockpiled in his luggage. As for Jane, she'd be eternally grateful for the part, however minuscule, Colonel Andrews had played in bringing her and Henry together. 

  


  


Who was she to lecture Ms. Charming (or anyone, really) about living in a fantasy, anyway? Jane was well aware of the consequences of displaying too much pride or prejudice, even if she did find reality infinitely preferable these days.

  


  


**Author's Note:**

> Eternal thanks to M for the beta.
> 
> Title taken from a Dr. Seuss quote.


End file.
